The Call of the Sea
by elfmaiden4legs
Summary: ****The year is 1796, a year marked by a scorching tropical summer for the men of His Majesties frigate Indefatigable, and marred by an even more bitter winter; claming the lives of many of her unfortunate crew... but will young Hornblower be amongst them?


**The Call of the Sea**

The year was 1796, a year marked by a scorching tropical summer for the men of His Majesties frigate Indefatigable, and marred by an even more bitter winter; claiming the lives of many of her unfortunate crew as one by one they succumbed to the call of the sea.

First malnutrition and then disease claimed the lives of many of the men – leaving the remaining crew stretched, and themselves vulnerable to infection as they were each tested to the limits of their own strength and endurance, each struggling with the workload left by the loss of several men.

Hornblower himself had certainly taken on more than his fair share of the extra load, sharing in his men's labours as only a true leader of men ort. Although only a Lefttennant he carried a steady head upon his shoulders, always fierce but fair in battle, and equipped with a guarded empathy making him popular amongst the men.

Captain Pellew had watched the young officer steadily thrive under his command, making the transition from a mere boy into a man – and could see great things still building beneath the surface of the young Lefttennant's deceptively naive appearance. Hornblower was a man he'd somehow grown to regard as he might his own son – that was if he'd ever been blessed with children to call his own.

It had come as a great shock to them all therefore when Mother Nature had seen to deal them another heavy blow, and it seemed the young Hornblower also could not hold off the ever present threat of sickness forever, as he himself had finally succumbed to pneumonia.

He'd presented with a mild cough a few days beforehand – a cough which only manifested itself as a faint tickle at first. Doctor Hepplewhite had been consulted, and had instructed a complete rest of the young Lefttennant's lungs, prescribing a small amount of opiate to help him sleep.

The young Hornblower had respectfully refused the drug however, fearing its mind numbing properties, and as the days passed the progressive cough showed little sign of relenting; steadily developing into a mildly irritating rasp, and finally a hacking chesty rattle.

On the third day after he'd first presented with symptoms Lefttennant Bracegirdle had approached him, as he took first watch; pale and shivering upon the ship's deck. He'd spent most of the previous evening tossing and turning, as the gentle rhythm of the sea rocked him soothingly from side to side. Wrapped within in his hammock he'd struggled to find comfort and grasp fruitlessly at brief intervals of broken sleep in between bouts of violent coughing, which wracked his aching chest and ribs.

As the fit progressed well into the late evening and early morning his breath became uneasy and laboured. Each time Horatio got up to change position he felt as though a huge weight were atop of him, squeezing the air from his lungs and crushing his diaphragm and ribcage.

He'd now been coughing so violently into a cotton handkerchief for nearing the last half an hour into his watch – as the fine winter rain entered his lungs with each aching breath – that Lefttennant Bracegirdle could ignore his fellow officer's plight no longer, and made his way over to himself access the situation and broach the topic of the young man's condition.

"That's quite some cough you've got yourself there Mr Hornblower." He frowned as he approached, alarmed as he observed the paler of the young man's complexion and the dark circles beneath his sunken eyes. He'd lost weight – the heavy Navel jacket hanging loosely from his thin frame, and white linen leggings gaping at the calf – as the physical toil of the past few weeks had obviously done little to improve the young Lefttennant's muscle tone.

"Indeed Mr Bracegirdle." He'd remarked weakly. "My lungs do appear to have caught the wind a little this morning."

"This morning…" Mr Bracegirdle had exclaimed at this. "You've had the beginnings of sickness hanging over your head for three days since! We all couldn't help but notice!"

"I assure you sir it's nothing to worry about." The young officer had made a feeble attempt to reassure his superior officer and friend however. "A slight irritation of the lungs, a mere inconvenience that is all. I am sure it will run its course within a few days."

"Even so my man you ort to be resting." The older of the two officers had remarked sternly. "I'll take over the reminder of your watch for you. Get yourself down to the sick berth, and I'll inform the Captain."

"With respect sir," Hornblower had objected adamantly, coughing again into his handkerchief and continuing with a wheezy breath, "I have already sought Doctor Hepplewhite's consult, and there is little more he can do except to prescribe opiates and rest. I would much prefer to remain within my own quarters where I might at least rest in moderate comfort, if I may."

"Very well Mr Hornblower." Mr Bracegirdle had nodded. "But you will at least allow me to take over the remainder of your watch, I insist. You cannot hope to last much longer if you continue to exert yourself and forgo the consideration of your own health. Go below and take care of that cough."

"Aye aye sir." Hornblower had nodded, acknowledging his friend with a weak salute. "And may I express my most gracious thanks."

There was little else he could do but accept his friend's offer of relief, in the hope that he might at least be able to grab a few hours extra sleep. He was of little use to his ship, nor indeed her crew, in his severely compromised state – his condition would only compromise all of their safety – and so it was that cold and shivering he'd made his way back down below deck to nurse his aching lungs.

Despite the young Lefttennant's optimism however his condition did not improve. He was slow to wake when Lefttennant Kennedy had tried to rouse him so that he might take of a little food and water a few hours later – and by the following morning had spiked a raging fever, leaving him bedridden and confined to the sick berth for the following three weeks.

Captain Pellew had kept up a concerned and close vigil at the young Hornblower's side throughout this time, as had his friends – Kennedy, Mathews and Styles amongst them. He'd battled delirium for days as infection ravaged his weakened body, and they'd all watched on helplessly as he'd fought for freedom from his fluid filled lungs.

Doctor Hepplewhite had expressed his concern on more than one occasion that this may very well have been one battle the young Lefttennant could not possibly hope to win, and that he was in grave danger of being taken by the sickness, to lie with his shipmates at the bottom of the sea.

Captain Pellew, although having struggled to disguise his own grief for the sake of the rest of the men, had been a shadow of his former self for days, and had refused to accept this however. He had argued fiercely with Hepplewhite upon the subject. Archie had barely left his friend's side, except for of an evening when the Captain would appear to take over the exhausted Acting Leftennant's watch, and there had been a listlessness about the men which was uncharacteristic by their lack of usual jest, and joviality as the young Lefttennant's life had hung in the balance.

The young Hornblower had rallied to surprise them all however – and on the seventh day had come through the other end of the ordeal. His fever had finally broken, body still weak, but mind fully intact.

It was with great relief therefore that once he was fit enough to be permitted a few hours a day away from the sick berth that Captain Pellew had suggested that he might spend a few hours a day in conversation with him, within the relative safety of the Captain's cabin – partaking of his meals away from the oppressive gloom of the sick bay and sharing in the issues influencing the day to day running of the ship.

It was during one such afternoon, a few days into this fresh routine – having shared of a little light port, and after partaking of a rich fresh beef and ale stew – that Captain Pellew finally brought their most recent of conversations to an end.

"Yes, well," He faltered suddenly, taking a final sip of the weak alcohol and wiping his greasy fingers upon the course napkin across his lap, before throwing it down on top of the table before him, "We'd better get you back to the sick berth. Doctor Hepplewhite will be wondering why I've kept you. Have you quite finished Mr Hornblower?"

The young Lefttennant took a final mouthful of port and swallowed, choking slightly as he felt the hot sensation of the liquid slide down his throat, and warm his gullet.

"Yes sir… thank you, I have finished." He coughed.

"I've already kept you far too long." Pellew sighed, looking to the window and the gentle rolling of the calm sea outside, broken only by the occasional solitary wave breaking against the side of the ship, and rocking its giant girth gently – to see that it was already beginning to get dark.

"On the contrary sir," Hornblower responded, "I have rather enjoyed our conversations over the past few days. As the body recovers, the mind does have a tendency to rot. I feel it has done me some good to have been given this opportunity to engage in intellectual conversation as I recover."

"Even so, you still shouldn't push yourself too soon Mr Hornblower." The Captain faltered in his usual gruff manner, although there was a note of distinct affection and concern for the young officer within his tone.

With this however, on his Captain's instruction, Horatio went to get up out of his seat and suddenly realising that he could not move.

Deeply embarrassed by such an exemplary display of weakness in front of his Captain he flushed red. Although try as he might he couldn't get out of his chair – his legs were too weak to support his thin frame, and the more he battled with his own failing body his aching limbs turned to jelly, and the weaker he became.

"I'm sorry sir." He faltered hesitantly, addressing Captain Pellew. "But, umm… I… I err… I'm afraid I can't move."

"Well… err… I suppose that these sudden bouts of weakness are only to be expected." The Captain stuttered, before adding notably, "I've kept you far too long Mr Hornblower. Your body has been weakened by sickness and disease, it's going to take time to recover itself again, but I'm sure you'll surprise us all yet with your remarkable strength of courage."

With this Hornblower gave up his futile struggle to get up out of his seat, and slammed his fist frustratedly down against the edge of the table. It was a sudden and rather unexpected gesture from the young man, but Pellew didn't even flinch. Instead he did something rather more unexpected of a ship's Captain, as he approached the young Lefttennant – arm outstretched.

"Here, take my arm Mr Hornblower." He offered.

"Sir?" The young man asked, confused by his Captain's unexpected gesture.

Captain Pellew was indeed a good man, an honourable officer in His Majesty's Royal Navy, a man of great loyalty to his country and to her people, and beneath his hard exterior a man of great kindness, but it was not the duty of a Captain nor indeed expected that a man of his position should be expected to show care in such way for a lower ranking officer.

"Well unless you would prefer to remain in that chair for the rest of the day, and clutter up my quarters with your presence in the meantime Mr Hornblower." He remarked, an expression of good humoured jest upon his face. "It's going to be pretty damned inconvenient if I'm going to be expected to walk around you for the rest of the war, not to mention with the indisposition of one of my best officers…" Despite Pellew's jest however there was a distinct note of concern within his tone which he fancied might have actually given away his true motives if the young man under his charge had not been too weak to notice. "Then I believe you may require some assistance."

"Thank you sir." The young Hornblower faltered, nodding, and taking his Captain's arm gratefully, as the older man helped him to his feet.

"Now then, best foot forward Mr Hornblower." Captain Pellew spoke encouragingly in his usual gruff tone, once the young Lefttennant had his feet set firmly upon solid ground again, a warm smile curling the corners of his coarse lips. "Let's set a positive example for the rest of the men to follow, shall we?"

"Yes sir." Hornblower nodded in response – although his body had been weakened by the disease which had ravaged his system, his tone was still strong and unwavering – bearing little evidence of the sickness which had gripped him, as steadily they made their way out of the Captain's quarters, and started on their slow descent downwards – towards the bowls of the ship.

It was a strange sight however as the crew of the Indefatagable watched as their Captain assisted the younger officer, gently guiding and supporting his thin frame, and yet somehow not entirely unusual nor unexpected. Although the commanding officer of a frigate in His Majesty's Royal Navy wasn't supposed to have favourites amongst his crew, each of them realised that the young Lefttenant held a special place in the Captain's heart, and as they watched him muttering brief words of encouragement, allowing the young officer a moment to compose himself as he stumbled, before they continued along their way, they smiled.

They likened the scene to watching a father calmly caring for his ailing son – as Captain Pellew had carefully worked to nurture the young officer, and bring out the best in the young man.

He didn't know it yet but the young Hornblower was lucky to have found a good friend and figure of inspiration in Pellew… a young man so dear to the Captain as one of his very own.


End file.
